After the Trial
by Verdreht
Summary: Ever wonder what happened to Duke after The Trial of Audrey Parker? What if he got a little more roughed up than anyone thought? When a certain detective goes to check on him, he might find Duke's ship isn't the only thing in need of repair. Nuke SLASH
1. Chapter 1

Nathan wasn't quite sure what he was doing. One second, he'd been at the station with Audrey, reading over her report of what had happened on Duke's boat when those two robbers had commandeered it. The next, he was standing on the pier. The sunset was pretty, he reflected absently.

Too bad the sunset wasn't what he was here for. No, he didn't know what he was doing, but at least he knew why he was here. Or, more specifically, whom he was here _for_. He was here for Duke, the man whose boat he was presently standing beside. He'd read the report, how Audrey explained Duke's capture. Of course the smuggler hadn't allowed himself to be seen to afterwards. He'd gotten everyone off his flooded boat as quick as possible, and that had been that.

Except it hadn't, because the more he got to thinking about it, the more worried he became. He and Duke may not have gotten along well at the best of times, but Nathan had already accepted that was just a part of their relationship. He wasn't as dense as Audrey accused him of being; he knew he cared about the younger man. And not just because he was one of only two people he knew that could actually make him _feel_ something. Insane as he was, not to mention reckless and annoying and cocksure, Duke was probably one of the best men he knew. Sure, he didn't exactly have the most savory occupation, but when it came right down to it, Duke was a good guy. He was a good guy who'd taken more shit from people than he deserved and never _really_ complained, and Nathan got the sneaking suspicion that sometimes, that turned out bad for him.

He _had_ seen Duke before they'd cleaned everything up. He'd been holding a bloody rag to his bloody face, with all his traditional Duke indifference. But Nathan could see through it. This had shaken Duke; after all, this was his boat. This was his sanctuary, and it had been invaded.

Still, he'd left. Duke was a big boy, and could handle himself. That was what he'd told himself, anyway.

Obviously, he'd changed his mind.

Before he could change it again, Nathan walked onto Duke's boat. No doubt, he'd get some lip from his (secretly) favorite smuggler for showing up on his boat without a warrant or a crime scene, but he didn't particularly care about that right then.

Nathan raised his fist, and knocked it against the door of Duke's boathouse. He'd only just moved for the second knock before the door gave way, revealing Duke clad in the same clothes he'd last seen him in. Only, this time, they were a lot dirtier. As a matter of fact, _all_ of him was dirtier, smeared with dirt and slicked with sweat and seawater.

"Wuornos," Duke greeted, "don't take this offensively or anything – because you know how much I _love_ your company – but now's not really a good time." Nathan had always been good at reading between the lines, and these lines clearly read _fuck off_.

Normally, though he would never admit it, Nathan found he like Duke best when he was covered in the marks of his trade. A little bit of engine grease against his olive-toned skin looked pretty damn good on him, after all.

Not this evening, though. Right now, he just looked…tired. One of his eyes was starting to bruise, and the other had a dark circle beneath it. His face, which hadn't looked that bad when Nathan had left, looked a lot more painful now. It wasn't grotesque or anything; Duke probably didn't even know how to _do_ grotesque. All the same, though, it looked damn sore. His left cheekbone was swollen a little, and a big angry bruise surrounded a cut. His opposite jaw had similar bruising, and his lip was split badly.

Nathan got the feeling, though, that none of it would've looked quite so bad if Duke had taken half a second to try to clean himself up.

"You look like shit," Nathan said tactlessly.

Duke sneered, but the expression lacked its usual fire, and even the lightest twitch of his mouth had brought new blood glistening to the surface of his lip. "Yeah, getting interrogated will do that to you. Now, like I said—"

Nathan cut him off. "I take it you got the leak fixed."

"I thought the whole 'boat's still floating' would make that pretty obvious," Duke retorted.

"I was going more or less on the hammer hanging from your belt loop and the fact that you smell like bilge water." Nathan shrugged. "But six one, half dozen the other."

The look Duke flashed him for that little nugget of sarcasm would've been enough to melt a lesser man into a puddle of trembling goop. "Did you come here for something, Wuornos, or did you just feel like being an ass?"

"That's something, isn't it?" Nathan asked. It occurred to him suddenly that it felt like they had switched roles. Duke was never this snappy; he was more the tongue-in-cheek, veiled insults type.

Since talking to him obviously wasn't getting the job done, Duke decided just to ignore his unwanted visitor. If he was being perfectly honest, Nathan was the last person he wanted to see right now. It wasn't that it hated the guy; he _wished_ he could hate him, but he just couldn't. No, the problem was a little more complicated than that. All he'd wanted was a chance to retreat back into his violated hidey hole and lick his wounds until his smug smirk could fall in place without making his eyes well up.

Around Nathan, though, what he wanted had a tendency to change. Now, instead of retreating somewhere _alone_ to lick his wounds, he couldn't help wishing that the other would notice. Logically, he knew it was better to hide it. He was Duke-freaking-Crocker, the master of smooth, cool, and everything otherwise unshakable. It wasn't in his repertoire to need help.

Still, he couldn't help that niggling hope: the hope that Nathan Wuornos actually gave a damn about him beneath that "go die and see if I care" exterior. He was just so _tired_ and his everywhere hurt, and no one could be bothered to give two shits about him. Even Audrey just went on her merry little way, and she'd seen him getting the pulp beat out of him. It seemed to him that he only really existed when they needed something from him, and though it wasn't something he tended to mind, now…Now he _needed_ more.

Frowning, he turned and started back for his stateroom. If he locked the officer out, maybe he'd take the freaking hint and get off his boat before Duke did something he'd get laughed at for later.

However, what he hadn't expected when he turned around was that the table he'd wisely side-stepped in his approach was _still there_. As he turned mid-step, the corner of the table bit into his bruised ribs, and all the air left Duke's chest in a rush.

Nausea rose in his stomach, and before Duke could fight it back, it forced its way up his throat. Mercifully, he made it to the edge of the boat before he tossed it, but it was all he could do to stay upright and keep his head over the boat rail.

Nathan watched in momentary confusion as Duke doubled over the card table, and then rushed to the side of the boat. As soon as he heard the sound of retching, his feet were moving him, and he ended up standing right behind the filthy, vomiting smuggler. Instinct and concern beat out common sense, and before Nathan knew what he was doing, he had one hand braced on the other's chest while he rubbed soothing circles between his pronounced shoulder blades with the other.

Out of respect, Nathan waited until Duke had finished feeding the fishes before he asked, "Are you okay?" It seemed like an obvious question once he asked it, but then, Duke's reply wasn't the obvious answer.

"I'm fine," he hissed, spitting the last of the muck from his mouth into the water. In truth, his head was spinning, pounding from where that thug's fists had used it as a punching bag. His ribs felt like they were in a vice, and no matter how good his sea legs were, it felt like his stomach was rolling with each and every wave of the relatively calm sea.

Still, if he could just make it inside, it wouldn't matter. Nathan would probably still laugh at him for getting seasick or something, but it was better than the truth. It was better than him knowing that Duke was only human, and that Duke _could_ feel the pain that Nathan couldn't.

So, that was the plan. He shoved Nathan's hand from his chest – there was no denying the warmth and comfort of those hands, nor the absence their loss incurred – and started for the door as his vision began to tunnel.

He made it only a few steps before his knees buckled. In his defense, it was a truly valiant effort, and he didn't yelp or cry out. He accepted that he was going to hit the deck, and that it was going to _hurt_; all he could do was close his eyes and wait.

Only…the impact never came. Instead, he found himself in a pair of strong arms, leaning back into a firm chest that he'd only seen and felt in fleeting shoves and tussles.

"Jesus, Duke," Nathan said. It took some doing, but he managed to get the smaller man over to one of the chairs by the table that had been the cause of all this.

As soon as his ass touched the chair, Duke doubled over, his arms curled around his stomach. He was going to hurl again; he was sure of it. And it would be his luck that it'd be all over Nathan. Because he wasn't already humiliated enough.

Said HPD officer reached for Duke's arms, intent on unfurling them from his middle so he could get a look at him. The bruises on his face might've suggested a concussion or something, but the way he'd buckled when he hit his side on the table made Nathan think that there was something else there.

He'd only just gotten his fingers around one of Duke's abnormally thin wrists, though, before Duke wrenched his arm free. From the grimace, Nathan was willing to bet he paid for the act of defiance.

"Hey," Nathan said gently. He didn't want to make this a confrontation, anymore. His affections and their ongoing spat weren't important right now, not when Duke was so clearly hurt. "I just need to get a look at you, okay man?"

"I'm fine," Duke retorted. He moved to stand up, but he hadn't even gotten upright before the ground beneath him seemed to shift and he pitched forward again. Luckily, Nathan caught him and lowered him back into the chair.

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "You were saying?"

"Fuck off, Wuornos," Duke snapped. He didn't feel like putting up with Nathan's lip. Some part of him might've wanted Nathan to figure out his lie, to help him, but if he was just going to harass and patronize him, then he would rather he just buzzed off. "Aren't there some innocents you should be helping or something?"

"I don't know about innocents," Nathan replied, "but it looks like _you_ could use some help." He tried to sound as earnest as he knew how; he really _did_ want to help Duke. It was just a matter of getting the proud young man to accept his help.

Duke finally looked up, and for a moment, his eyes seemed to bore into Nathan's own, like he was searching for something. Nathan didn't know if he found it, but he let out a sigh and admitted, "I think it's just a bruised rib."

"You think?" Nathan asked.

Scowling, Duke straightened a little in his chair. "Yes, Nathan, I _think_. I'm not a fucking doctor."

It took some effort, but Nathan managed to ignore how good his name sounded on Duke's lips, and instead tried to offer something productive. "Maybe you should go see one?" He thought it was a valid suggestion.

Duke, apparently, didn't share that opinion. "I don't do doctors, man," he said. It wasn't exactly an olive branch, but at least there wasn't quite the fatal dose of venom he'd been spitting before.

Right, he remembered something about that. He remembered back when they were kids, when Duke had showed up with a broken arm. He'd tried righting it himself and nearly passed out in the playground. That was when he'd first figured out that Duke had a problem with hospitals.

Of course, it wasn't until a few years after that when Nathan found out it was Duke's father who'd broken his arm in the first place. By then, the enmity between the two of them was just a little too strong. It was only recently, now that he'd gotten to know the man better, that he started to feel just how great an injustice that had been.

It was Nathan's turn to let out a sigh. "Well, will you at least let me take a look at it?" Not that he thought Duke's reply would matter much. He'd take him into custody and get him a physical if he had to; vomiting and collapsing after getting the tar beaten out of you wasn't normal behavior.

Duke didn't look too keen on the idea, but he knew Nathan better than he got credit for. The guy would get his way eventually, and this was the preferable option. "Can I get a shower first?" he asked. As fond as he was of the smell of the sea, he didn't have a particular fondness for walking around smelling like fish and petroleum.

Nathan took one look at the guy and promptly nodded. Getting cleaned up would probably do the guy some good, anyway. His only question was whether Duke would be able to stand up long enough for a shower.

"All right, so shower first, and then you and I get to play doctor," Nathan said.

He took it as a good sign when Duke's lips quirked up into a shadow of that traditional smirk of his. "Sounds kinky," he said, and even though it sounded halfhearted, it was nice to see a little bit of the Duke he knew slipping back.

"Yeah, yeah, keep your fetishes to yourself, fish boy. Think you can get up?" Nathan asked. Duke went to do just that, but he only made it a few inches before he dropped back into his seat. "I'm gonna take that as a no…all right, let's get you in." He offered his hand, and when Duke took it, he pulled the other man up. Hooking his arm around Duke's lithe waist, he started to help the smaller man inside. It was all he could do not to think about the feel of Duke's warm skin pressed so close to him. Given his condition, even being able to feel anything at all was enough to send his heart racing. But this…this made it hard to think.

Once they made it to Duke's beloved stateroom, Duke started to pull his arm back from around Nathan's shoulder. It seemed like he was getting his feet back under him.

Nathan let himself be brushed off, if for no other reason than to let Duke protect what little was left of his wounded pride. All the same, he stayed within arm's reach of him as he walked gingerly around his cabin, gathering up some clothes for his shower. As soon as he stepped into his closet of a bathroom, Duke tried to shut the door, only to have it stopped by Nathan.

"I don't need a babysitter, Wuornos," Duke said.

So, they were back to the last names again. "No," Nathan agreed, "you don't. You never have. But right now, you look about one rock of the boat away from collapsing on your feet."

"Your concern is touching, but—"

"Just don't lock the door," Nathan told him. At Duke's curious look, he added, "You're a big boy, Duke. You can shower by yourself. On the off chance you do decide to have a gravity surge, though, I don't think either of us wants for me to have to break the door down."

Duke seemed to consider that for a moment. "And they say I'm uncivilized," he muttered finally. Nathan took that as a "yes" and removed his arm from the door, just in time for Duke to pull it shut.


	2. Chapter 2

A few minutes later, Nathan heard the water start running. Meanwhile, Nathan got to looking around Duke's room for the first aid kit. He made a point to keep his eyes away from any markers of Duke's deviant activities, and instead swept the room until finally he found the massive white tackle box with a big "x" taped on the top. He'd have to remember to tell Duke that it was supposed to be a cross, not an "x".

Taking a seat on the uncharacteristically neat bed – it was made and everything – Nathan flipped open the box and started going through the supplies. He'd need butterfly bandages for Duke's face, some antiseptic cream, some alcohol wipes, and probably some elastic bandages in case his ribs were really hurt. Luckily for him, he found everything he needed, though he had to admit it worried him a little bit that Duke had even considered needing some of this stuff. And he wasn't going to _think_ about how he got his hands on some of it.

He'd only just finished fingering through a supply of morphine bottles and a few other heavy medications he couldn't pronounce when he heard something from the bathroom that caught his attention. At first, it sounded like feet slipping on wet tile, but then there was a loud _thud_ that had him up and running to the bathroom in an instant.

"Duke?" he called, his hand poised and waiting on the door handle. If Duke could convince him that he was all right, then he'd stay outside. He'd seen Duke naked before – albeit, it had been a couple years, and only because he'd caught him off-guard on his boat – and though it wasn't an experience he would mind repeating, something told him now wasn't the time.

However, after a few long moments with no reply, he decided timing wasn't everything. "I'm coming in," he warned, and with a shove of his shoulder, the door gave way. He hurried into the steam-filled bathroom, and threw the curtain open.

The sight that greeted him made his stomach drop. Duke was curled up in the corner of the bottom of his shower, doubled over with his arms around his stomach. His face was twisted in a mask of pain, and he'd gone pale.

Turning the water off, Nathan knelt down in front of him. "Duke, what happened?" he asked, reaching for one of his shoulders. Without any clothes to hide his injuries, Nathan could see the bruises that covered his whole side. It didn't help that he could count every one of his ribs, and it looked like not just one of them, but a couple were oddly shaped. Nathan just hoped it was swelling.

"I fell," Duke hissed through clenched teeth. Nathan imagined if he hadn't been in so much pain, he probably would've been embarrassed at the admission.

Nathan winced sympathetically. "All right, c'mon, let's get you up," he said. It was a testament to just how bad Duke was feeling that he didn't even quirk a suggestive eyebrow. Frowning, Nathan reached over and snatched the towel hanging on the rack, wrapping it around Duke's shoulders. As gently as he could, he helped his sort-of-friend up off the rapidly chilling tile. It was a good thing Duke wasn't heavy; Nathan practically had to carry him back to his bed.

For the sake of Duke's dignity, he made a second trip for his briefs and his shorts, and turned while he pulled them on. The shirt would wait until _after_ Nathan had seen to those ribs.

When Nathan turned around, Duke was still sitting on the bed, only he was better-clothed and a little bit drier. The towel hung around his slumped shoulders, and though his hair still dripped into his face, most of him was dry. Still, just to be sure, Nathan walked over and took the towel from his shoulders and started to dry his hair. He was careful to avoid the egg on his temple, but Duke still hissed like he was being beaten again.

"I can dry my own hair," he grumbled, but he didn't make any move to take the towel. The truth was – and if anyone told Nathan this, he would deny it – he was enjoying the attention. Most of the time, the side of Nathan he got was cold and sarcastic; seeing this gentler side of him almost made getting beaten to a bloody pulp worth it.

When Nathan was satisfied that Duke's hair was sufficiently dry, he let the towel fall down to the bed. "Arms up," he instructed, tapping the underside of one of Duke's elbows. For once, Duke did as he was told, though not without a token eye roll, lifting his arms up at ninety-degree angles to his abused sides. Nathan didn't miss the wince at the action, and made a mental note to work fast to limit any additional discomfort. Judging by the looks of that goose egg hugging the bony part of his temple, just above his jaw, Nathan got the feeling he didn't need any more discomfort. Never mind his bruised ribs.

Grabbing a ladder-back chair from the corner, Nathan dragged it over and took a seat in front of Duke. Wordlessly, though not without a sympathetic glance, he reached his hand to the worst of Duke's two sides. He'd made it down to the last three ribs, pressing and checking for any breaks or dents, when Duke suddenly jerked back. It was too late, though; Nathan had already felt the crack.

"Stop, man, it—" Duke seemed to catch himself, and clenching his jaw, he averted his eyes.

"It what?" Nathan asked. Since he had to finish checking the other two ribs, and Duke seemed intent on _not_ letting him do that, he braced his other hand against the opposite side of his chest. It was only bruised, not misshapen, and he didn't think the contact would hurt him.

For some reason, though, Duke's breath hitched, and when he let it out in a sigh, his shoulders slumped miserably. "It hurts," he muttered, so low Nathan almost couldn't hear it. "It hurts a lot."

There was something in the way he said those words, something so sad and miserable and all around defeated, that made Nathan's heart sink. It wasn't like Duke to admit a weakness, which had to mean he really was in pain. And, Nathan hoped, maybe that he was starting to open up.

"I'm sorry," Nathan said.

Duke actually looked surprised. "What, no 'buck up, Crocker, they're just some little bruises'?"

Nathan grabbed some athletic wraps from the tackle box, and started binding Duke's ribs as he spoke. "Except they're not," he said, leaning in closer to get a better look at what he was doing. "They're a fair bit worse than little bruises." The ribs weren't broken from what he could tell, just cracked, so a doctor wouldn't be able to help him. It had to hurt like a bitch, though. He'd had plenty of practice with these before, and he expertly started the wrap above his ribs. "Exhale, deep as you can."

Duke looked at him confusedly for a moment. "Why?"

"Helps me get the bandages tighter. Once we've got you wrapped up, it should be easier for you to breathe."

That sounded nice, being able to breathe, so Duke let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, only to grimace as Nathan pulled the bandages tight around his ribs. One time around, then two, three, and finally the fourth before he pinned the bandages in place.

"Done now?" Duke asked.

Nathan put a reassuring hand on Duke's shoulder, careful not to put too much pressure on it. It was bruised and swollen, like his ribs, and the way he'd been holding it to his chest didn't seem like it was just for his chest. "Not quite," he said. He didn't even bother to give a warning before he gave Duke's shoulder a harsh shove. Sure enough, he felt the satisfying pop against his palm right about the time he heard Duke cry out.

"Son of a bitch!" Duke seethed, leaning forward to bite the knuckle of his other hand. His face was twisted in a mask of surprise and pain, and Nathan couldn't help feeling bad even though he knew it had to be done. The strangled groans that broke from Duke's throat as he tried to breathe through the pain didn't make it any easier, though.

"Easy," Nathan told him. "The worst part's over, I swear."

A harsh chuckle shook Duke's shoulders. "You sure you don't just want to give me a root canal while you're at it? Here's your chance to work out decades of pent-up frustration. No doubt I've done something to deserve it; justice _is_ what you do, isn't it, law man?"

There was venom in the words, spat through clenched teeth, but there was also a sort of resignation to them. Nathan knotted his eyebrows as he started another roll of the wrap around Duke's shoulder. "Believe it or not, I don't _like_ seeing you black and blue and miserable," he sighed. "You may not be my favorite person sometimes—" that was a lie, "—but you don't deserve to get the shit kicked out of you."

He had more to say, but it was probably best that he didn't have the guts to say it, because he noticed Duke didn't seem to be listening. As he finished pinning the last of the bandages in place, Duke looked to have gone even paler than before, and his eyes had a far off look in them.

"Duke?" Nathan asked, watching as Duke's jaw muscles tensed beneath his skin. Duke didn't answer immediately, and it was only when Nathan put a hand on either side of his face and lifted it that Duke even met his eyes. "Hey, man, talk to me."

And Duke did. "Think 'm gonna be sick," he muttered. Instead of doubling over to hurl, though, he just slunk forward like he'd lost his balance. Nathan managed to catch him just in time, and instead of sitting him up again, he eased him back to lie on the bed.

"You're probably about to pass out," Nathan told him steadily. God, he looked almost skeletal when he was lying on his back, the way his ribs and hip bones stuck out from his toned abdomen. "Try to breathe, slow and deep. In through your nose, out through your mouth."

Though Nathan was leaning right over him, Duke's half-lidded eyes seemed to look everywhere else but at him. He did try to take the breaths Nathan was telling him to, but he only tried for three before he gave up. It felt like his ribs were on fire! Whatever Nathan had done had just made it worse; his shoulder felt like it had been broken in half.

Duke was more than happy to tell him as much. "You just made it worse, you bastard," he groaned, curling in on his side.

"I know it feels like that right now, but you'll thank me in the morning," Nathan assured him. He wasn't honestly sure if that was true, if for no other reason than Duke wasn't really the thanking type, but he knew it was necessary. He also knew it had to hurt like a bitch. "Come on, lean forward for me." He still needed to bandage up that cut on his cheekbone.

Duke, at least, still had the gusto to look incredulous. "You know I was just kidding about the root canal thing, right?" he asked weakly.

"Damn, and I was so looking forward to that." Nathan rolled his eyes with a slight smile. "I just need to patch up that pretty face of yours."

"You think I'm pretty?" Duke asked, arching an eyebrow, only to drop it when it tugged at the goose egg on his temple.

Nathan still blushed. He hadn't meant that – okay, he did mean that. He hadn't meant to _say_ that, though. He quickly covered it up with some sarcasm. "Oh yeah," he said, "freaking gorgeous." Once again, he meant every word of it. Damn, this was harder than it used to be. "You won't be if that heals like that, though, so just let me get a look at it."

That didn't sound like too much fun to Duke, though. At that point, he thought he'd rather just take the scar. He was too sore and too tired to put up with any more of this shit. If Nathan would just let him sleep, he was sure he'd be fine.

"I know you're tired," Nathan said sympathetically. "It won't take me long, though, and then I'll let you sleep."

Duke was confused for a moment. "Did I say that out loud?" he muttered after a brief silence.

Nathan nodded. "Yup. C'mere, I'll make this quick." Without giving Duke the chance to protest again, Nathan scooted forward and grabbed some antiseptic and a Q-tip from the kit. Tipping a hand under Duke's chin, he carefully angled it so that he could get a better look at the cut. As gently as he could, he smeared the antiseptic cream along the cut, and then set the Q-tip down in favor of a butterfly bandage. "This might sting a bit," he warned, and taped the bottom half of the butterfly bandage beneath the cut. Bracing his fingers on Duke's cut, he pushed the edges together and pressed the other half of the butterfly bandage down so that it held the cut closed tightly together. "And we're all done," Nathan announced as he sat back.

That was good, because Duke looked decidedly put out. Put out, pale, and utterly miserable, not to mention completely exhausted. In fact, as Nathan packed away the last of the things back into the first aid tackle box, Duke let out a little yawn.

Nathan was just about to close the box when his eyes fell on a bottle of codeine. He grabbed it, and held it up. "Do I even want to know where you got this?" he asked. There were worse things in there, of course, but he was actually considering giving Duke a dose of the codeine, just to help him sleep. Wounds like his, though life-threatening, hurt like hell.

Duke took a second to look at the bottle, and then replied, "The pharmacy at the corner. Two weeks ago."

Raising an eyebrow, Nathan took a look at the label on the orange bottle. Sure enough, Duke's name was on it with the date set for two weeks ago.

"Why'd you need codeine two weeks ago?" he asked.

Duke shrugged a sort of one-shouldered shrug, keeping the bandaged one carefully still. "Working with HPD is bad for my health, apparently. Audrey gets me into all sorts of things. Don't worry, though; the doc over-prescribed. I don't even take that stuff; I just like to keep it handy, in case."

Reassured, Nathan closed the lid of the tackle box and palmed the pill bottle. "Well guess what, Duke? Tonight, you're taking this stuff."

With a dull look, Duke eyed the bottle as Nathan got up and started for the kitchenette. "I don't take anything that makes me loopy," he said blandly. "I'll be fine with some Tylenol."

As Nathan returned with a glass of water, he didn't waver. "You need to sleep, Duke," he said as he sat the glass on the seat of the chair, freeing up his hand to shake out one of the pills. "Don't worry, anything you say can't and won't be used against you. Strictly off-the-record; scout's honor."

To Duke, it didn't seem like the time to point out that he wasn't worried about saying something Nathan could arrest him for. He was more concerned about saying something Nathan would hate him for. It was hard enough to keep his secret crush to himself when he was coherent.

So, he reinforced his refusal. "I'm not taking it, Wuornos. I can sleep fine without it."

Nathan sighed. Duke was going to be stubborn about this, just like he was with everything else. Luckily, he'd already thought of that, and had set some water to boiling while he tried his hand this time. Leaving the glass on the chair, he walked back to the kitchenette and poured out the steaming water into a NAVY mug. Picking a bag of tea from Duke's frankly absurd collection, he returned to Duke with the mug in hand.

"Drink this, at least," he said, holding out the mug to Duke. The tea he'd chosen was a strong black tea, and had nearly steeped just in the time it had taken him to get back to Duke.

Duke took one look at it and scoffed. "Seriously, man?" he asked. "Just how stupid do you think I am?" He knew that Nathan had more than likely dosed his tea. Frankly, he was a little disappointed; Nathan was supposed to be more clever than that.

Now that he thought about it, though, he _was_ thirsty. He had a bad taste in his mouth, too. There was the glass of water, he thought, which looked oddly good for a glass of water. Mind made up, he reached for the water instead of the mug – leaving Nathan hanging – and chugged the whole glass in one go.

Only to grimace as the aftertaste hit him like a punch to the mouth. "Jesus," he spat, raking his teeth over his tongue as if that could help cleanse the sharply bitter taste from his palate. "Where the hell did you get that water?"

It wasn't until he saw the barest hint of a grin, equal parts apologetic and smug, that Duke realized he'd been had. "You son of a bitch," he whispered as Nathan sat the mug on the nightstand and returned to sit in the chair in front of the bed.

"Just how stupid do you think I am?" Nathan mimicked fondly. His tone wasn't mocking, but reassuring; there was something almost frightened about Duke's expression, and he didn't want him to get upset. Well, more upset.

Of course, Duke didn't go down immediately like everyone always did in the movies; medicine didn't work like that. Between the exhaustion, though, and the relative lack of food on his stomach, it didn't take long for the medicine to start to kick in. After a few minutes of glaring silently at Nathan, Duke started to lean forward a little bit, and then back, and then side to side, like he was trying to sit up straight and just kept overcompensating.

"You're a bastard," Duke muttered. His tongue was so heavy now, like he was trying to talk around a mouthful of his beloved maple syrup.

"I know," was Nathan's patient reply. "But I'm a clever bastard with just the right mix of spite and compassion to do something I know you'll hate, so long as it's for your own good. Which, in case you didn't follow me the last time, this is."

"No it's…" Duke trailed off as his eyes started to get heavy. Without warning, he lurched forward, and Nathan quickly rose to catch him. Instead of helping him right himself, though, he started to ease him back.

"Come on, Duke, easy does it," he said. Duke was wincing like he was in a whole world of pain, and Nathan didn't doubt it. He tried to move him as quickly and carefully as he could, getting his head lined up with the pillows on the bed and working the covers out from under him.

"Tucking me in?" Duke grumbled out through clenched teeth. He was so tired, his words were slurring together.

Nathan nodded with a small smile. "Yep, Duke; I'm tucking you in. Want me to read you a story, too?"

"Done plenty," was Duke's barely-audible reply. He was fading fast, now, and Nathan couldn't help feeling a little bit guilty. He had been a little underhanded, but then, it was necessary, and he certainly owed it to Duke. God only knew the number of time's he'd come through for him or Audrey in a pinch, and to end up like that.

He thought to apologize, but before he could, he realized that Duke was already asleep. All lines of stress had faded from his bruised, yet beautiful face, and Nathan couldn't help thinking that he looked almost…innocent, when he slept. Nathan tried to memorize the picture; it was easily one of the most precious things he'd ever seen.

Unable to resist, Nathan brushed a hand through Duke's ebony locks, only just dried from his shower. They were impossibly soft on his fingers, sending waves of sensation up through his hands and to his very core. That a simple touch could feel like that…he couldn't help wondering what a kiss would feel like. The thought had no sooner occurred to him than he realized he couldn't fight the urge to do just that, and slowly, he leaned down and pressed a kiss, not to Duke's lips – that would be crossing too much of a boundary; as if this wasn't bad enough – but to the smooth skin of his brow.

And with that one touch, that one fleeting moment of contact, Nathan knew it: he was addicted. He, Nathan Wuornos, was addicted to Duke Crocker.


	3. Chapter 3

Nathan was troubled. Well, more than usual, that is. Maybe _conflicted_ would be a better word for it.

The source of his conflict was lying in the bed in front of him, stretched out and unconscious for what was nearing the twelfth hour. Sweat beaded down the sleeping man's knotted brow, but shivers wracked his form. Nathan supposed it would've been one thing if his charge had been sleeping easily.

But then, Duke never could do things the easy way.

It would've been bad enough, too, if it was just the fever that had him tossing so fitfully in his sleep. His long legs would twist and he'd go between kicking the covers off to reaching for them. Each time he did kick them off, Nathan would patiently pull them back up, even though he knew that they'd be kicked right back down again a few moments later. Shivering was bad for fevers, Nathan knew, and the blanket was just thick enough to quell the shivering while not overheating him.

Sometimes, though, it would get worse than that. Sometimes, instead of just kicking the blankets down, he would start to writhe and twist. Occasionally, a groan or whine would break from his lips, and Nathan was convinced they were the most pitiful sounds he'd ever heard. It had only taken him a few second the first time to figure out that it was different, and a few more seconds to figure out what exactly it was.

A nightmare. Because the fever wasn't bad enough, his restless sleep was interrupted every few hours by some subconscious conjuring. Duke had gone without one for a few hours, and Nathan wasn't optimistic enough to think that they'd just stopped. No, now he was waiting for one, sitting by Duke's bed as he flipped through the paper for the third time that afternoon.

He didn't have to wait long. Out of the corner of his eye, Nathan caught movement on the bed beyond the usual shifting. Folding up the paper, he sat it down on the bedside table and stood up, walking over to the bed.

Sure enough, Duke's lips were pulled down in the telltale frown and his fists were clenched around handfuls of sheet.

Nathan had fallen into a bit of a routine on this by now, though. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he rested a hand in Duke's hair, careful to avoid the bandaged cut on his temple. "It's okay," he said, keeping his voice low and steady. "It's just a nightmare, Duke. Go back to sleep."

Normally, with a few repetitions of that, Duke would settle back down and fall asleep. But something was different this time. This time, it just got worse. Instead of light, slow movements, Duke started to twist his whole body. His legs twisted, even his left which, Nathan had discovered, looked to be sprained or something at the knee. He'd wrapped it a few hours ago when it had really started to swell, and now he had to put his hand on Duke's thigh to keep him from shifting it off the pillow he'd propped it up on.

Then came the sounds. They started as harsh breaths through grit teeth, but morphed into unintelligible mumbles and whines. His breathing quickened, his bandaged chest rising and falling unsteadily.

Frowning, Nathan straightened. He knew Duke hated hospitals, but it seemed to him like now was the time to admit defeat and call in reinforcements.

He'd only just gotten to the phone, however, when a gasp suddenly sounded from the bed. Nathan turned in time to see Duke sit up with a start, his eyes wide. The event ended in a choked yelp from the younger man, who stopped dead.

Nathan was back by his side in a second, a hand between his shoulder blades and a hand on his chest. "Hey, hey," he said gently, trying to ease Duke back. Duke wasn't able to put up much resistance, but what he did manage was enough; Nathan didn't want to force him, lest he hurt him more than he already was.

The problem was that Duke's brain still hadn't caught up with his consciousness, and he still seemed to be operating on his fight or flight reflexes. He tried to shrug away from Nathan, but that just sparked a wave of agony that forced the air from his lungs in a rush.

This wasn't working, Nathan decided. Duke was going to hurt himself carrying on like this, and between the pain and the fever, Nathan didn't seem to be getting through to him. "Duke, look at me," he tried. He figured if he could get Duke's attention, then maybe he could get him calmed back down. The confusion in his eyes, the way he was curling in around himself and holding his ribs like he thought his insides were going to fall out, all of it made Nathan's heart ache, and he just wanted to take care of him.

But Duke was too far out of it. His fever-bright, bleary eyes darted around the room, and his jaw clenched and unclenched. His face was a mix of pale skin, dark shadows, and flushed cheeks, all dampened with a thin sheen of sweat, and Nathan could feel him shaking under his hand. A sudden worry struck him: what if Duke was going into shock?

He'd been in emergency response long enough to know that the first thing you do with someone that might be in shock is to try to get them calm. Get them calm and get them talking. That was hard, though, since Duke wouldn't even look at him.

So, he made him. Sitting down on the edge of the bed facing the younger man, he put a hand on Duke's cheek and forced his head to turn until their eyes met. He kept his other hand on the back of Duke's un-bandaged shoulder, holding him up so that he didn't have to strain his ribs. Duke's bare skin was worryingly warm against Nathan's hand.

"It's okay, Duke," he said. "It's just me; it's just Nathan. You're okay."

At first, Nathan didn't think it was working. Slowly, though, Duke's eyes started to come into focus, settling on Nathan's face solidly if a little confusedly.

"Nathan?" he breathed after a moment. "I don't…" His brows pulled together as he struggled to get his thoughts in line. He was hurting and his head was all fuzzy, and for some reason, he was lying in bed staring straight into the lovely face of Nathan Wuornos. And for that matter, what was with that last part?

Duke was still asleep; he was sure of it. He'd heard that you couldn't feel pain in dreams, which made him question it a little bit, because for the love of God and any other deity, he was in _pain_. But between pain in dreams or the oblivious object of his desires sitting in his bed, he was dead certain the former seemed a lot more believable.

Still, it felt so real. Not just the pain – that felt a little _too_ real, and a little too _everywhere_ – but the feel of Nathan's cool hand against his cheek, and the dip of the bed under his weight.

"You're not…" he started, but couldn't finish. His tongue was too heavy, and his eyes burned, and he didn't feel so great. It was hard to breathe – there was a tightness in his chest, and his ribs felt like they were on fire.

Nathan frowned and took his hand from Duke's face. "Come on, Duke, you need to lay down," he told him. Duke's eyes were starting to well, and he was holding his chest tighter.

"'m fine," Duke ground out. His thoughts were getting sharper, but it felt like the more he got his brain together, the worse the pain got. His head pounded and his stomach churned. He needed to wake up; if he woke up, everything would be back to normal.

He started to try to stand up. Pain flared in his leg as he tried to move it, but he tried anyway. If he could get up, he could do something. What, exactly, he didn't know, but something was better than this.

Nathan saw him moving, and quickly stood up so that he could more effectively block Duke from getting up. "No, you don't," he said, hooking an arm under Duke's legs and pushing them back up onto the bed. He could feel him tensing against him trying to get his legs back around, so Nathan held them in place and used his other arm to try to get his torso back down.

Duke tried to shrug away from Nathan's hand – no matter how much he enjoyed the dream-Nathan's touches, he didn't want to lay back down – but he couldn't. Even so much as thinking about moving his stomach made things worse; he was stuck. He couldn't get up, he didn't _want_ to lay down, and sitting up hurt so much.

"Hey, it's okay," Nathan told him gently. He could see Duke was getting upset, and he really did need to get him lying down again. "I'm not going to hurt you."

All the same, he did have to get him lying down before he strained something. Since Duke didn't seem too keen on going by himself, Nathan finally resolved to make him. With an arm around his back and a hand on his chest, he pushed him gently back to the bed.

Duke tried to stay upright, though, grabbing onto Nathan's arm as he struggled for breath after breath. "Don't," he choked out.

Even though he knew he was doing the right thing, Nathan couldn't help feeling guilty at the request. He was taking advantage of Duke's weakness, and upsetting him in the process. The fact that he didn't seem to understand what was happening just made it worse; the dazed look on his face lent itself to sort of panic. His eyes were welling up a little, even.

"I'm sorry," he told him sincerely. "I know this probably isn't making a whole lot of sense to you right now, but you're just gonna have to trust me and do what I say."

But Duke shook his head. "You're not real," Duke said through clenched teeth. "'s a dream. Just gotta wake up." His voice wavered pitifully, and his chest heaved.

It took a second for Nathan to figure out what Duke was talking about. He thought this was a dream? Hell of a dream, Nathan thought, but then, Duke was medicated and feverish and possibly in shock. Who knew what he could come up with to try to explain everything?

Still, if he thought it was a dream, then that might've explained why he wasn't listening to Nathan, which just wasn't going to fly. "It's not a dream, Duke," he told him. "You got beat up pretty bad yesterday. That's why you're hurt, not because it's a dream."

"Gotta be a dream," Duke insisted. "You're here."

Nathan wasn't sure how to take that. From the looks of things, though, he wasn't going to get much clarification. Duke had let one hand fall from Nathan's arm to his own stomach, and his face was twisted in a deep grimace.

"I'm here," Nathan conceded, hoping to pacify the younger man. "But it's really me."

Duke let out a ghastly-sounding chuckle at that. "Why?" he asked. The question was vague, but the self-reproach and bitterness in his voice helped Nathan read between the lines. What Duke really meant was, "Why would you be here?"

"Why not?" Nathan replied. He realized, though, that Duke's processing speed probably wasn't quite ready for rhetorical questions. He wasn't sure what to say, though. Why was he here? Because Duke needed him. Because it killed him to know that Duke had been suffering, and they'd left him alone.

Because he loved him.

But he couldn't…he couldn't say that, could he?

"Because I'm your friend," Nathan tried. It wasn't technically a lie. As far as friends went, they were probably one another's best shot.

Duke clearly wasn't buying it. Whether it was something in his voice, or just a general understanding, Duke seemed to see right through it. Even in his dazed state, he knew, and it seemed to bother him, because he resumed his efforts at sitting back up.

Nathan panicked. He'd only just made progress, and each effort Duke made seemed to put him in even more agony. It was tearing Nathan apart, seeing Duke in pain. He had to do something. He had to—

"Because I love you."

Shit.

Like a deer in headlights, Nathan froze. He hadn't meant to say that. Granted, it'd had the desired effect; Duke had stopped trying to sit up. Instead, he cocked his head to the side like he was thinking.

"What?" the young smuggler asked finally.

Well, there was no point in denying it now. Nathan wasn't the sort to lie, and he'd danced around this for too long, anyhow. With any luck, maybe Duke would just forget this in the morning. "I love you," he repeated. "I know there are times we don't get along, and frankly, you really do annoy the hell out of me sometimes, but still, I can't help it. Everything about you, Duke. Your smart mouth, your Cyrano nose, your devil-may-care attitude. All of it. You're fucking gorgeous, Duke, and I know it doesn't make any sense, but you're special."

Duke snorted at that. "Must be," he grumbled, hissing a bit as he drew in a breath. He wasn't looking at Nathan, but rather up at the ceiling overhead. The corners of his eyes were wet with tears. "Leave it to me to dream up something like this. Nathan Wuornos says he loves me and I'm too beat to hell to enjoy it."

"This isn't a dream," Nathan asserted patiently. He wasn't the type to get worked, and even though his heart was thudding a mile a minute, he kept a poker face on. "This is real, and I really do love you."

There was a long pause, and Duke blinked owlishly. The scorn on his face faded, and he looked like someone had just told him Santa Claus wasn't real. And then, "You're shitting me."

Despite that being the most reasonable, Duke-like response Nathan had heard from the guy so far, that really wasn't what Nathan wanted to hear. "Yeah, yeah. You can laugh or freak out or whatever later. Right now, you need to get some sleep."

Duke shook his head again, and Nathan let out a sigh.

"Please, Duke," he said. "I get that you're hurting and I probably just gave you something else to worry about. If you want, I can call Audrey or something, and she can come stay with you; I'll leave you alone." And he really would. In fact, he got up to go get the phone to do just that.

To his surprise, though, the moment he stood up, he felt a hand grab his wrist. He turned to see Duke doing his God's honest best to sit up and hold on, even as his injured shoulder shook from the effort of holding himself up and sweat beaded on his brow from the pain.

"Don't," Duke said, and in the one word, Nathan could read a myriad of emotions. Pain, fatigue, desperation, and…_love_? No, surely he was wrong; he was hearing what he wanted to hear. With a twinge of disappointment, Nathan started to unfurl Duke's long, slender fingers from his wrist. There wasn't much Duke could do to stop him on that count, but instead of letting his hand fall, Duke curled his fingers around Nathan's hand.

This time, when Duke spoke, the reedy strain of agony was still present. There was something else there, though. There was a fortitude there that Nathan hadn't heard since Duke woke up. "Nathan," he said, "stay."

The one word hit Nathan like a punch to the gut, knocking all the air out of him. He knew he'd heard what Duke said, and maybe he was reading too much into it, but it had to mean something that Duke hadn't just thrown him out on his ass.

Duke seemed to mistake Nathan's hesitation for a rejection, though, and tightened his hold on Nathan's hand. His brows knotted again. "Please."

Nathan was uncertain. "I meant it, you know," he said. "I wasn't just saying it. I love you."

"Got that," was Duke's reply. The smuggler patted the bed next to him. "Just sit down…don't have it in me to chase you."

That brought a nervous chuckle out of Nathan, but all the same, the HPD officer returned to Duke's bedside. The younger man tried to move over for him, but he wasn't moving very far.

"Here, let me help," Nathan said, walking around to the other side of the bed. Kneeling on the mattress, he helped Duke shift over a little to the right, and then pulled the covers back so that he could readjust the pillow underneath his knee.

However, when he went to sit down next to the still-too-pale Duke in the spot he'd just vacated, he was stopped. "No jeans in my bed," Duke said, a pitiful ghost of his normal grin on his face. His normally glinting eyes were still too dull to pull of the leer he normally gave, but Nathan appreciated the effort.

Stepping back, he unfastened his jeans and slid out of them. Still unsure of Duke's position on him, he opted to keep his t-shirt on as he sat on the bed next to Duke.

As if that was what he'd been waiting for, Duke finally allowed himself to sag back onto the bed. The movement made him wince as his arms furled around his chest. Before Nathan knew what he was doing, he'd put a hand on Duke's hair as he'd done so many times in the last twelve hours of Duke's unconsciousness.

The moment he realized his mistake, he went to take his hand away, only to stop as Duke let out a soft moan of protest.

"Paid for the whole hour," Duke mumbled. Nathan could tell he was trying to crack a joke, but the way his eyes had slid closed and a yawn slipped out, the effect was lost in favor of adorable sleepiness.

Nathan let out a chuckle all the same and returned his fingers to carding gently through Duke's thick black locks. After a moment, he was certain Duke had dozed off, only for the younger man to tense and suck in a gasp after a moment. His half-lidded eyes opened just enough to prove he was still awake.

"Duke?" he asked. He was afraid the younger man had tweaked something. "Duke, what's wrong?"

The answer he got released the tension in his chest. "Don't wanna sleep."

"Why?"

"Might wake up."

That didn't make any sense, but Nathan decided just to go with it. "Why don't you want to wake up?" he asked.

As Duke's drowsy eyes slid closed once again, seemingly of their own accord, the smuggler frowned. "Havin' a good dream," he muttered, barely understandable.

All the same, Nathan smiled. He still wasn't sure, but slowly, surely, he was starting to get the impression that maybe his affection wasn't quite as one-sided as he'd first thought. "It's not a dream, Duke," he told him, keeping his voice low and soothing so as to hopefully ease him to sleep. "You can fall asleep; I'll be right here when you wake up." It was a promise he was all too happy to make.

It seemed to Nathan like Duke was more asleep now than he was awake, and he gave a barely perceptible nod and let out a noise that sounded a little like, "Good."

At that, Nathan listened a little harder. Duke was still saying something. He was still speaking, but it was so soft and slurred it was hard to make out.

And then he did.

"'cause I love you, too."


	4. Chapter 4

Duke had mixed feelings as he awoke. As consciousness slowly returned, he felt like he'd hit a wall. Pain wracked through his head and middle, and even into his leg, and he wanted nothing more than to hide from it, to get away from it. He wanted to crawl back into the blissful darkness that kept everything from hurting and kept everything _quiet_. He was safer there.

But then, that wasn't really true. For some reason, he _wanted_ to wake up. It felt like there was something waiting for him, and he wanted to get to it. It felt safe around him, warm. There was a certain happy anxiety, like the butterflies you get before a date, all dancing around his aching chest.

Still, though, he fucking _hurt_. Sleep wasn't coming back to him, it seemed, so eventually, he gave up.

The monumental effort it took for him to just open his eyes struck Duke as almost absurd. Why was this so damn hard? Why did he hurt all over, and what the hell was going on? He didn't understand any of it; all he knew was that there was something he needed to do. There was something he was looking forward to, and the sooner he figured out what it was, the better, because he bloody needed something good.

Suddenly, there was a pressure on his cheek. It hurt a little, just because his cheek was sore – he didn't know why it was sore, but he'd given up on trying to understand those things right now – but altogether, the feeling was more welcome than anything else Duke had felt so far. It was so warm, so soothing, despite the calluses.

Calluses. A hand. Too big to be a woman's, too spindly to be his go-to doctor guy.

With new incentive, he fought harder to get his eyes open. His right eye wasn't giving him too much trouble, but his left felt thick and swollen. Every second that passed without success was a mounting frustration. For God's sake, it was an eye!

Angry, he tried to reach up to pry the damn thing open, only to freeze. The pain that had been throbbing dully in his shoulder suddenly flared to life, and he couldn't stop the gasp that escaped his lips. It felt like someone had just taken a hammer to his shoulder, and now that he'd moved it, it didn't seem like there was anything he could do to relax it.

But then a voice joined the hand. "Easy, Duke; just take it easy."

He knew that voice. That voice was familiar, with its low timbre and deep, soothing rumble. Sexy, he thought, was a good word for it, only there was more to it than that. Right now, it was just…comforting. Still, it didn't make the pain go away. Maybe if he could just get up….

Okay, so that sounded good in theory. In practice, though, not so much. Just like his shoulder, the pain in his ribs kicked up and this time, he cried out.

A weight settled on his chest, pushing him back down, and then two hands settled on his cheeks. He tried to flinch back when something tapped on his eyelids, and let out a whine of protest when he found he couldn't. Why couldn't those hands stop torturing him and go back to being nice and soothing?

The voice picked up again, sounding both sympathetic and patronizing at the same time. "I know, I know," it said, sounding almost guilty. "Just open your eyes for me and I'll stop, okay?"

That would've sounded fair, except that was the problem in the first place: he _couldn't_ open his eyes. When he tried…actually, that worked that time. He managed to get them open, and blurry light spread across his eyes. There was a shape, he realized, but his eyes were still too unfocused to make them out. He reached up to rub them, only to let out another wince.

One of the hands settled on his upper arm gently. "Try not to move your arm too much," the voice said. Duke could make out the mouth of the long, blurry face moving, and knew this to be the voice's owner.

Suddenly, Duke's brain put the pieces together. The familiar, sexy voice; the long face; the thin, callused hands…. "Nathan?" he breathed, but cringed as his voice caught.

The figure smiled, and as he slowly came into focus, Nathan seemed to materialize. Looking up at him, Duke noticed a certain look in his eyes that went along with the smile. He looked…relieved. Relieved and nice.

Duke figured out, then, what he'd been looking forward to. This. Nathan. Slowly, pictures crept into his head. They were just little flashes, like remembering a dream, but there was a greater clarity to it. There was pain, and Nathan, and Nathan saying something…he loved him. Nathan said he loved him, and he thought – that is, he could've sworn – he'd said it back.

Unaware of Duke's mental game of catch-up, Nathan brushed a hand through Duke's hair. "Morning, sunshine," he greeted. And it _was_ morning. Monday morning, to be specific, and Nathan was certainly glad he'd taken the day off. Duke seemed to be doing a lot better this time around, though he was still clearly a little disoriented.

"Nathan," Duke repeated, taking in a slow breath. "I don't…why're you…?" He remembered what he _thought_ had happened, but he couldn't remember if that had really happened or if he'd just imagined it. God, he hoped it had really happened.

"You're a little banged up right now, so I'm looking after you," Nathan explained patiently. "As for why…well, we've had this conversation already. I'm here because I think you'd probably get yourself killed if I left you alone."

"Ah." Duke frowned. That wasn't what he remembered being Nathan's reason.

But Nathan wasn't done. "And, see, I really just can't let that happen."

"Because?"

Nathan smiled, and in a burst of courage, leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to Duke's lips. It was all or nothing, and he figured it was time to stop beating around the bush. As he sat back, he tried not to let his nerves show on his face. "That answer your question?"

Duke blinked again. Did that…did that really just happened? Had Nathan Wuornos really just _kissed_ him? He'd dreamed of that same thing for months, but this…this was real life, wasn't it? Which meant that what he remembered wasn't a dream, and Nathan really—.

"You gotta be kidding me," he groaned.

To his credit, Nathan took the comment well. "Not exactly the response I was expecting," he said, "but I guess it could've been worse."

"That's not what I meant," Duke said quickly, moving to sit up, only to sink back down with a grimace. "Shit…." The word came out as a choked groan as he fisted the hand of his good arm over his chest. He still couldn't quite recall what had happened, but whatever it was, it'd done a number on his ribs. It hurt to breathe.

Nathan frowned and sat down on the bed beside him. He'd been up and about, but the spot was still cleared. "Try to take some deep breaths," he instructed. "You're gonna hyperventilate if you don't."

"I'm gonna hurl if I do," was Duke's breathless reply. It ended in a short, choking laugh as Duke furrowed his head back against the pillow. "God, this sucks."

"I'd imagine," Nathan allowed. "Dislocated shoulder, concussion, bruised ribs…it's bound to throw a wrench in your work out plans."

Duke lifted his head long enough to glare, and even that seemed to be too much. "Don't be a smartass, Wuornos," he snapped. "I pine after you for months, and you choose _now_ to let me know the feeling's mutual. When I'm too beat to hell to even _think_ about doing something about it." He let out chuckle that sounded a hell of a lot like a sob. "It sucks."

Nathan's face softened, and he brushed a hand gently through Duke's sweat-dampened hair. "I know. I'm sorry I made a joke about it. It seemed like a good idea at the time." Actually, that was a lie. It had been an accident, then. Still, he had to admit, it felt great to have it out in the open. Especially since Duke apparently reciprocated.

But it still killed him to see Duke in so much pain. He sighed. "Think you can eat something? You've still got some painkillers, but you probably shouldn't take anything else on an empty stomach."

"No thanks," Duke mumbled, his eyes sliding closed. The set of his jaw and the knot on his brows made it clear that he _needed_ the relief, but he didn't want it. It was the same tune he'd been singing earlier; he just hated getting dopey.

"Are we really gonna do this again?" Nathan deadpanned.

Duke chuckled, only to hiss as it strained his aching ribs. Nathan honestly hadn't been expecting anything different. Duke was the type to push himself until he hurt himself, and this wasn't the exception to that rule.

But then, that was why he was there: to boss him around and keep him from doing something stupid. That, and to just generally baby him, because frankly, he didn't get to see this side of Duke very often. He was always so independent and controlled…not that he enjoyed this.

Of course, Duke being bedridden did have its advantages. Nathan had the upper hand, and for once, Duke couldn't wriggle out of it. "I'm gonna go get you some soup," he said. "Will you be okay until then?"

Duke opened one eye just long enough to glare at Nathan, and fisted his hands a little tighter in the sheet.

Deciding to take that as a yes, gave Duke's uninjured shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze and headed for the kitchen.


	5. Chapter 5

A few minutes later, as Nathan was taking the bowl of canned chicken soup from the microwave – he was a bachelor; microwaves were more his speed – he heard a loud thud. The thud was closely followed by a series of curses that probably made the tips of even Nathan's ears red.

Probably, he said. He couldn't tell.

Either way, being that both the thud and the choice language both came from the bedroom, Nathan got the sneaking suspicion that Duke was responsible. And truth be told, that _thud_ was just a little too familiar. He'd heard one almost exactly like it the first night.

Needless to say, Nathan got worried. Sitting the bowl of soup down on the closest available empty surface, he took off through the kitchen and through the door of the bedroom.

He wasn't sure if he was more concerned or _pissed off_ by what he saw. There was Duke, surprisingly upright, though Nathan suspected that was largely due to the way he was clinging to the bedside table. It seemed to him like that was also the source of the thud, because a couple of the books that had been on the table were now on the floor. Probably hit it pretty hard when he was trying to catch his balance.

Or maybe _lack_ of balance would have been more fitting. He only had one leg to stand on, the other held gingerly off the ground. He only had one hand to grab onto the table with, too, what with how his other shoulder was still giving him fits. He could tell from the bruises still peeking out from the bandages around it that it was still in bad shape; Nathan knew from experience that dislocated shoulders took a while to heal. That said, he couldn't really be the judge of how much they hurt while they did. He'd wager a lot, he guessed…it took a lot of pain to knock Duke Crocker on his ass.

Which was actually something he wanted to avoid, if at all possible. Something told him Duke was about one rock of the boat away from face-planting, and knowing Duke's luck, he'd manage to crack his head open or something.

That in mind, he didn't bother chiding Duke. That could come later, when he wasn't balanced precariously on one foot and gritting his teeth in pain. Instead, he quickly came up behind him and slipped an arm around his lithe hips. The other went to guide Duke's good arm over his own shoulder so that he could hopefully keep him upright when he took away his balance.

Duke, however, wasn't quite willing to give up his only support just yet. He let out a soft, unintelligible protest that Nathan was _pretty_ sure he hadn't meant to, and tightened his grip on the edge of the table.

At first, Nathan was a little annoyed. He thought Duke was just being difficult. But then he saw the white on his knuckles…the way his hand shook – hell, the way most of him shook – with the effort, and the way sweat beaded on his brow. He'd gone pale, everywhere but his flushed cheeks.

It was tenacity, Nathan realized, but behind it there was just a little bit of fear. He was suddenly reminded of their first day in ninth grade…"teambuilding day." They'd marched them all out to the back of the school to the bleachers – this being the age before doing such a thing would've gotten them sued to hell and back – and made them do trust falls. Everyone had done it: the nerds, the bullies, the bull_ied_, the jocks…everyone.

Everyone except Duke. He'd strategically managed to never be front in line, despite the fact that they did three whole rotations. At first, Nathan just thought he was being an elitist ass; now he knew better. Duke, between his drunk bastard of an old man and the less-than-friendly circles he seemed to run in, had understandably developed a few trust issues.

And that had been a relatively casual scenario.

Casual, this was not. Duke was probably in a world of pain, and asking him to trust even Nathan enough for him to let go of his proverbial life raft was asking a whole hell of a lot. That said, Nathan had to get him back to bed somehow, and he _really _didn't want to carry him there. Not to say he couldn't, he just didn't think Duke would appreciate it.

So, with that venue out, he decided he would try something a little less drastic. For now, at least.

"Duke, you want to let go of that?" he said. Because maybe talking to him would work.

For a moment, Duke seemed to think about it, but then he shook his head.

"You _don't_ want to let go of it?"

"I'm good, thanks." His voice sounded shaky at best, and reedy from the effort it was taking him to keep vertical.

It was all Nathan could do not to let out a sigh. Not a frustrated one, either – okay, maybe a _little_ frustrated. Mostly, though, he was sympathetic. He hated seeing Duke miserable probably about as much as Duke hated _being_ miserable; the only difference was that he could help him where Duke couldn't help himself.

That said, he wasn't going to force him. If he pulled him away from the table and Duke somehow lost his balance, then he'd feel guilty. Besides, that would only serve to upset the poor guy more, and that seemed a little counterproductive.

Still, he tightened his grip a little around Duke's hips, not to pull him away, but to make sure Duke knew he had him. "I'm not going to let you fall," he said. "It's okay."

"I said I'm good."

"And I said you're not, so stop being a kid and let me help."

Nathan realized a little belatedly that he'd probably just crossed a line. And if he hadn't realized it on his own, he probably would've figured it out when Duke shoved him away and turned on him.

"I don't want your help!" he said, but he'd no sooner finished speaking than he lost his balance. Nathan only barely managed to catch him before he fell face-first into the floor of the cabin, and it only got harder from there. Still dead-set on proving he could manage himself, Duke tried to shove him off with everything he had. Luckily for Nathan, he _had_ more, and he held fast. "Let me go!"

"If I do, you'll fall," Nathan said. There was no doubting it. Even if Duke _could_ stand on his own, he didn't even have his feet under him right then. The way he'd fallen and the way Nathan had grabbed him left his knees bowed under him. There was no way in hell he'd be able to support his weight and right himself, and Nathan for one didn't have it in him to let the guy drop like a rock. This wasn't his fault, anyway…well, not really. Duke was self-sufficient – it was just something he was. Something he valued. And now, he couldn't even stand on his own, and it had to be killing something inside him.

But that didn't mean Nathan would just let him screw everything up. He hated that Duke couldn't take care of himself, but that was just the way it was. Beat up like he was, the guy was lucky Nathan hadn't just carried him out to the truck and driven him to the hospital. As it was, he needed to get Duke off his feet before he managed to hurt himself…worse.

"Duke, don't fight me," he said. "Please, I don't want to hurt you. Just calm down and let me help you back to bed before you break something a first aid kit can't fix."

Duke wasn't listening to reason, though. "Just get off!" he snapped. If anything, he started fighting harder. Nathan was losing his grip on him. He felt his heart clench. His nerves were at an end. "I can take care of myself!"

"No, you can't!"

Everything froze. Duke froze, like he couldn't believe the words Nathan has just said. Nathan froze, because he couldn't believe he'd just said them. They'd just…he'd been so hurried, so frantic. They'd slipped out.

It was too late to take them back, at any rate. As soon as he recovered from his own shock, Nathan used the pause for a chance to get Duke over to the bed. Carefully as he could manage, he eased him down before things got any worse.

On second thought, it seemed a little late for that after all.

As soon as Duke was sitting on the bed, Nathan squatted down in front of him. He had to; Duke's head was bowed, and it was the only way he could get a look at his face.

And what a pitiful face it was. Duke looked torn between fury and absolute, bone-crushing misery.

The look wrenched something in Nathan's chest. Like a knife, like a cord wrapped too tight…he felt a lump in his throat. Guilt. He hadn't meant to say what he'd said. It might not have seemed like much – he was just telling the truth – but that was a truth Duke didn't need to hear. Not right then, and not like that.

"I'm sorry," he said after a long moment. He reached out to touch Duke's flushed cheek, and tried to pretend the knife didn't twist when Duke flinched back. "Duke…I didn't mean…that's not…" He sighed. "I know you're independent; I get that. But come on – you're beat to hell. It doesn't matter whether you can take care of yourself or not."

He sat up a little straighter, and this time when he went to cup Duke's cheek, the younger man didn't move. Instead, he seemed to shrink into himself, and Nathan watched as a single tear slipped from Duke's bruised eye. He felt the moisture of it and the ones that followed as they fell to his hand. Finally, though, he had gotten through to him. Finally, he knew that Duke would hear him when he said what he needed to say.

"Because you don't have to."

With a soft smile, he slipped a hand behind Duke's head and pulled him close. Sitting up on his knees, his head was level with Duke's, and it was easy to pull the younger man into a firm embrace. At first, Duke stiffened.

But then, as if a valve had been released, he just deflated. It was hard to tell for a moment what was going on, but then Nathan felt the moisture seep through the shoulder of his shirt…he felt the soft sobs shake Duke's body. For the longest while, there were no words. Duke clung to Nathan, and Nathan held him in return.

"They were on my boat…"

The words were so soft that Nathan wasn't sure if he'd heard them or imagined them the first time. But then they kept going, muffled by Nathan's shoulder and filled with so many emotions, Nathan couldn't even begin to decipher them all.

So, he didn't try. He just…listened.

"I couldn't—everything…they knew everything." Duke sat back; Nathan let him…and for the very first time, he saw the full depth of the trauma that had been lying just beneath the surface since they'd first boarded the Cape Rouge. "It was my boat, Nathan," Duke said, and Nathan couldn't think that the past tense meant nothing. "But they knew. They caught me on my own boat…tied me up…beat me with my own guns. And I couldn't—I couldn't do anything."

That was it, then. The pain was bad, the wounds were horrible, but it was this that had done the greatest damage. The violation of his ship, of the only home Duke had ever really known, of his sanctuary…that had been the greatest blow.

Nathan understood, now, and the sympathy he'd felt before wrenched sharper in his gut. What could he say to something like that? What could he say to make that okay? To make Duke feel safe again?

Nothing. The answer was nothing: nothing he could say that would fix this the way he so desperately wanted to.

So, he didn't say anything. Instead, he wrapped his arms around him, and he held him. He held him because he couldn't tell Duke he was safe, couldn't tell him he was okay.

But maybe, just maybe, he could show him.


End file.
